


Family

by azriona



Series: Advent Calendar Drabbles 2012 [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar Drabble, Childhood, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:09:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azriona/pseuds/azriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s never fun to wake in the middle of the night, especially when you already doubt your place in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last stand-alone ficlet for my drabbles. Because I am lazy, I’m titling the “drabbles” with the prompt I was given. Today’s prompt is from , who I hope does _not_ cry when she reads this (a wish that might surprise her). Not beta’ed or Brit-Picked; all comments and nit-picking welcomed.

The baby wakes Mycroft, crying and wailing in the dead of night. He slips out of his bed, finds his slippers on the floor and creeps down the hall. By the time he reaches the nursery, the small lamp has been switched on, and the wails have softened into sucking. Mycroft peers around the door, and sees Mummy in the rocking chair, humming while she feeds his baby brother. 

Mummy doesn’t see him; Mummy never sees him now, and Mycroft’s heart is large with hurt. He slides down to sit on the floor, watching the pair of them together, Mummy and Sherlock, and he closes his eyes and listens to the hum, and pretends it’s for him. 

When he wakes, it’s because Father has scooped him up, and Mycroft nuzzles into his shoulder. 

“I don’t want to go back to bed,” says Mycroft, fuzzily. 

“You’re not,” says Father, and Mycroft, confused, opens his eyes as he’s settled next to Mummy, nestled on the side not occupied by the baby. 

“Hello, love,” says Mummy, and she wraps her arm around his shoulders, drawing him in. Mycroft wriggles closer. He’s too old for this kind of comfort, of course, he’s nearly eight and doesn’t sleep with Teddy anymore, but oh, this is nice. The baby’s eyes flutter open; his fingers stretch out and Mycroft, without thinking, touches the center of the baby’s palm. The tiny fingers wrap around his pinky, and hold on tight. 

Mummy goes back to humming, her fingers stroking his hair. She smells just right, and Mycroft thinks she still loves him. The baby’s fingers are strong and sure, and Mycroft knows he is warm and safe. His eyes drift closed, back to sleep.


End file.
